


Not all Holidays are Happy

by TheKingisaGirl



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: 12 Days of Swan Queen Christmas, F/F, Muslim Character, Muslim Holidays
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-12
Updated: 2017-12-12
Packaged: 2019-02-13 20:11:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,618
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12991629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheKingisaGirl/pseuds/TheKingisaGirl
Summary: AU in which Regina and Henry are Muslims, and Emma takes part in one of their holidays.





	Not all Holidays are Happy

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is about the day of Ashura. Where Shia Muslims remember the martyr death of Imam Hussain (as) the grandson of the last Prophet Muhamad’s (saw). Every year on the date that changes (Muslims follow a lunar calendar) in mosques all over the world and theaters the story is told, in form of plays to remind us of the importance of standing up against tyrany and the sacrifice the Family of the Prophet(as) made for the religion. There are also marches against the injustice and special prayer sessions.
> 
> The abbreviations (as) meaning peace be with him and (saw) means peace be with him and his prodigy in English are wishes of peace that come after the mention of their names as a show of respect.

“You don’t have to come.” She was looking into the mirror and fixing her veil. Black satin

“I know. I want to.” Emma said, watching her intently. This whole discussion was making her nervous.

“It’s not a fun event.” Regina turned around to look at Emma who was sitting on their bed.

“Regina, I read the book Henry gave me. I’m not expecting a party.”

“I don’t want you to be…”

“What? Scared? It’s the commemoration of a massacre. Why would I-”

“Some of the rituals can be a little off-putting-” Henry came into the bedroom holding a red headband with green Arabic script on it.

“Mom, can you tie it?”

She stepped over to him and he turned around, waiting patiently for her to tie a knot in the back.

“She still trying to talk you out of it?”

“Seems to think I’m expecting a rave.” Emma said dryly. She wanted to go. Henry had said she was always welcome, although, so had Regina, when it was still an abstract thought.

“You look very nice.” Regina ignored them both, brushed his shoulders and straightened the collar of the black dress shirt.

“I think it’s good you’re coming. It’s really something that can’t be explained well. You have to see it.” Henry said reaching into his pocket.

“He’s right.” Regina admitted, and seeing him pull out one bracelet with a red stone and white etching held by black string, she gasped.

“Where??”

“Found it in my room…” He said with a sly smile.

“What’s that?” Emma asked confused.

“It has the Name of the Prophet’s daughter on it, it’s a very special stone. I thought I lost it last year at the march.” She took it into her hands as if it were an ancient artifact too precious to handle with anything but the utmost care.

Emma saw Regina take a deep breath and turn around to face her.

“Would you like to wear it today? It’s supposed to protect.” She reached out to offer it to Emma.

“Umm…”

“Go ahead Ma.” Henry encouraged.

They showed her how to fasten the strings and when everybody was fully dressed and ready to go they gathered in the foyer.

Emma had borrowed a black scarf from Regina, it seemed she had hundreds, and was wearing her own black jeans and shirt. She felt a little bad that her winter jacket was blue but both Henry and Regina assured her she would be taking it off anyway, and it wasn’t a big deal. Regina had asked her at least 3 times if she was sure she wanted to wear the scarf, making sure to remind her that she didn’t have to. In the end she helped Emma tie it loosely over her hair. She wanted the full experience.

Henry had told her about all the great baked goods there would be.

She was nervous. Not because the concept of religion made her nervous, but because she didn’t know anyone there, she wasn’t Muslim and she didn’t want to intrude.

When Henry and Regina had first come into her life, she had been worried about her son growing up a Muslim. She knew nothing about the faith except what the news told her. She had to remind herself that not only was Henry Regina’s son, but Regina was a good mother. That she would never do something that harmed him. She had seen it with her own eyes, the love and devotion to her child.

So Emma learned. She read the book’s they had at the library about Islam. When Henry discovered she was trying to educate herslf he pilled her full of books they had at home, specifically about Shia Islam. Regina almost had her own personal islamic library.

She explained that many of the books from the library were outdated or written by non-muslims and were a bit slanted in their portrayal.

This whole thing had shown Emma that the things she consumed on a regular basis could have a bias, even if she didn’t notice it. The news, the paper even pop culture was either completely devoid of, or weirdly negative towards muslims. Emma had never been very political and wasn’t aware these things were problematic. Until she met her son. And his mother.

She had never met any muslims before, and she had questions.

Why didn’t Regina always wear the veil? Or was it hijab? How did they know what time to pray? What was that weird watering can in the bathroom for? Why did they learn Arabic if there was an English translation of the Quran?

Regina was patient. She explained and answered all of Emma’s questions and when she didn't know the answer herself, which seldom occurred, she gave Emma a book to read. That was Henry’s go to. A book and a “Duh”. He was not as patient. To him this was all common knowledge.

Of course she and Regina butted heads.

Emma thought it was ridiculous Henry couldn’t have gummi bears, and that he had to go to arabic school after normal school. Regina thought Emma’s incessant need to but into everything was annoying and that she let the kid stay up to long on weekdays. They got under each other's skin constantly about little things like homework and boundaries, but that was what happens when you co-parented.

But, they had agreed that if Henry wanted both of his mothers, they should give it a chance. Really it was Regina who had had the last say. Legally, Emma had no standing whatsoever, but they were working on that.

Only in time did co-parenting turn to dating. And Emma’s basic curiosity about their religion turned into interest. She wanted to know more about their lives, about their beliefs.

“Don’t hesitate to ask about anything you see okay?” Regina said squeezing her hand as they walked to the car, the gravel crunching under their feet.

They drove nearly a half an hour to the big hall. In silence. Henry had explained her that they don’t listen to music for all of Muharram, that was the last month is the islamic calendar, and for 10 days into the next, after as a sign of remembrance and grief. His book had told her that traditional Islamic mourning lasted for 40 days. Today was the 40th day after the tragedy of Ashura. They called it Arbaeen, the Arabic word for 40.

When they were listening to something, it was called Latmiya. It was sort of sad religious songs, telling the story of the martyrs. That was the best way Henry knew how to describe it. They sounded like music to Emma, but that was probably because she couldn’t understand them. They were usually in Arabic of Persian.

At the front desk they hung their jackets and received directions from the oldest man Emma had ever seen. That’s when they split ways. Henry went off to the left and she and Regina went right.

She hadn’t know it would like this. She had thought it was like going to a theatre or a movie. You take your seat and the thing began. It took them 30 minutes to get to a seat because Regina was constantly greeting someone and introducing Emma. They all seemed extremely happy to have her here. As if they were giddy to share their story and experience. There were kisses and hugs from so so many women Emma lost count.

They finally took a seat relatively close to the stage.

“Where is Henry?” Emma whispered craning her neck.

She could see the men’s section to her left.

“Probably backstage. He was very disappointed he couldn’t play a part this year so he’s helping out the stage manager.”

Emma bit her lip. She felt bad. He lost his chance to audition for the play because she had fed him Regina’s apple turnover mistakenly. He was extremly allergic. He was in the hospital for a week and both his mother’s had blamed themselves. He wasn't too phased. When he woke up, he had joked that he should have waited for the whipped cream.

That was the first time Emma had seen Regina cry. It had lead to a lot of late night’s of them talking and getting to know each other. Looking back that was probably their relationship changed.

The theatre was buzzing with conversation. It was low and pretty somber, the way you would expect of a wake, which made sense to Emma. This was a sad day for the people here.

When the lights finally dimmed, everyone sat and it was so quiet you could hear a pin drop. A single large spot light lit up on stage and a large man appeared. His clothing was the just like the illustrations in Henry’s book, white long sleeved shirt under brown vest that went to his knees. A dark green overthrow matching his turban. He began to tell a story. The same one Emma had read. About political intrigue and the grabbing of power that lead the grandson of the Prophet(saw) to make his way, with his family and 72 of his closest companions into the desert of Kerbala, Irak.

And so the actual play began. Scenes of the corruption of the evil Yazid and his army of 30,000 surrounding the camp of Hussain(as). They were surrounded and cut off from water and trapped in the desert.

The crowed in the theatre was so quiet, and Emma was so immersed in the story, she almost forgot where she was. Only when it came to the part of the story with Hussain's(as) infant son Ali Asghar, did they make even a noise. The 10 month old, whose neck was pierced by an arrow of the opposing army, because his father had asked for water for the baby. The crowd began to grow louder when his name was spoken, and Emma looked around at woman beginning to weep. Next to her, Regina was pale in the face, clutching the end of the green shawl she had thrown over her shoulders before they left the house.

Emma had read the story, but somehow she was not ready. Seeing it on the stage with real humans, a father pleading for water for his son. The cry of agony when the child was shot. Not only from the actor, but from the audience, made shivers run down her spine.

Hussain’s(as) brother trying to fetch water for the children and being dismembered before being able to return to camp. Mothers and children being separated, all of this played out on stage.

Towards the end of the play, when Hussain(as) had watched his family and friends die and was now alone on the battlefield, asking if anyone was there, anyone that would help. With his dying breath. The audience raised their voices:

“Labbaika Ya Hussain! Labbaik!” Meaning “At your service, oh Hussain(as)! At your service!”.

Emma’s tears hadn’t stopped rolling the rest of the play.

The last scene was the speech of Sayeda Zainab(as), the sister of Hussain(as), who stood before the tyrant leader with the rest of the survivors of the massacre proclaiming:

“I have seen nothing but beauty.” Speaking of the bravery and valency of her family, fighting against the oppressors. Speaking of their honor and composure in the face of terror and death. She spoke directly to the governor Ibn Zyad, who had ordered the assassination of her brother, his family and their companions, so eloquently that he dare not murder her.

Emma sat, stunned, weeping with the rest of the grown men and women. about something that happened 680 AD, to people who believed something she did not, and died in their struggle for justice. They were crying, wailing like it was their family that had been slaughtered.

She could feel Regina’s hand on her back. When she looked up, she was smiling at her. Not mocking or pitying just understanding.

“I got physically sick at my first Ashura,” She said offering Emma one of the tissue packets that were now going around the room. “Its always very intense.”

“I- It..” She didn’t know how to put it into words.

“I’m glad it touched you.” Regina said wiping the tears from her face.

There was a muffled announcement over the PA and suddenly men started making their way towards the stage.

“What happens now?”

“Stand. This will help.” Regina said standing herself.

The men on the stage were gathering in a circle and began beating their chest, lifting their hands over their heads and letting them fall to their chest. All together synchronized and beginning a beat.

A voice of a young man began to sing over the crowed. So pure and clear he could not have been older than 16. In english! Emma understood it. It was singing about the love to Hussain(as) about the sadness and grief.

Regina took Emma’s hand into her own, and laid it on Emma’s own chest. Over her heart, lightly tapping it in sync with the beat the men were making. When gave her a questioning look, she only said,

“It’s a form of mourning. It will help.” She said and began tapping her own chest with her hand. They continued to listen to the song, Emma was now making the motion herself.

Regina was right, she was always right. The thumping helped. It felt cathartic, freeing, as if the the sadness was being beat out. It baffled Emma. She never would have thought beating her chest could express grief.

On stage the men were now chanting, repeating the verses in response to the singer. The circle shifted to to accommodate one of them in their midst at a time, suddenly she saw Henry. Her son on stage showing this expression of grief, beating his chest, chanting. It scared her.

That he could develop such a strong connection and passion for something she didn’t quite understand yet. But then again, she didn’t really know him. She was living in storybrooke co-parenting a child she had only met a few months ago. He was hers, but somehow he wasn’t.

The whole event concluded with a feast. Henry had promised her baked goods and he had delivered. They were filled with dates and nuts and there was hot tea that warmed you to the soul. Rice dishes that were delicious is ways Emma didn’t even know how to describe. It was all very calming after the rollercoaster that was the play.

Regina never left her side.

She felt safe and protected from all that was evil in the world through this one woman. That was all it took for Emma. Just Regina. Henry was running back and forth chasing his friends and stealing cookies after Regina had expressly told him he had enough, but she wasn’t to strict that day.

“So again next year?” Emma asked pulling out of the parking lot.

Regina only smiled and they both glanced back at the already fast asleep Henry.

When they got home Emma was relegated to tuck-in-duty while Regina put away the mountain of leftovers they had been given.

She pulled the blanket up to his chin and his eyes blinked open for a moment.

“Did you like it?” He mumbled.

“Yeah kid, it was pretty special.” Like was probably the wrong word to use for something so serious but he was 10 and very tired.

“Wait until Eid,” he said snuggling into his pillow, “more candy than you can eat.” and his eyes drifted close again.

She gave him a kiss and went to find Regina. Maybe she had a book on ‘Eid' Emma could read...

**Author's Note:**

> Soo I've never been so nervous since the first time I posted anything so maybe be kind? This fic is extremely (haha) personal to me.
> 
> Also if you'd like to learn more visit https://whoishussain.org/who-is-hussain/the-full-story/
> 
> or send me message on tumblr :) thekingisagirl


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